Chapter 21: Turner's gift

Peter Doyle of the Chronicle eased into the booth at the Capitol Diner where John Turner waited. "This took an inordinate amount of research," Doyle said, pushing a manila envelope across the table.

"If that means 'a lot' of digging, the coffee's on me." Turner said. "How'd you make out?"

"Everything you need's here."

"So, how'd you do it?" Doyle flashed a sly smile.

"I consulted with an expert: Danny Horton's lawyer. I figured if he can keep a crook in business, he can help an honest man get back in."

Doyle stirred his coffee. "He was glad to help. Horton's shutting down, moving south. Any jobs for seamstresses in Tennyson?"

"Not that I know of," Turner said. "Doyle, I owe you."

"Anything to help an honest man. Besides, Turner, you inspired me," Doyle said. "I gave my two weeks notice. It's time I wrote that great American novel. How does 'The Holly Wreath Man' strike you as a title?"

ALLIE HENDERSON opened the kitchen door and set two grocery bags on the table.

"Jeff," she called. "I need help putting the food away."

"Aw, Mom," he begged from the living room. "I'm reading."

Pop lowered his newspaper and shot Jeff a warning glance.

"I'm coming," Jeff said, reluctantly.

The telephone rang. "I'll get it," Pop called.

"Dang phone. Ringing off the hook," Pop muttered. "Hello," he said. "Speaking. You're calling from where? How many?" Out of habit, he began taking down the order. "I wish I could help," he told the caller, crossing out the message, "but I'm not in business anymore. Happy holidays to you, too."

In the kitchen, Allie handed Jeff two cans of beans. He opened the cabinet door. "Not there," she said. "They go downstairs, in the shelter."

"Really?"

"Yep," she said handing him a bag.

"And there's sugar and creamed corn and coffee in here."

"But I thought — " Jeff said, confused. "What about the stealing?"

"That was wrong. Nothing changes that." She brushed back his cowlick. "But it's important to feel safe. We paid for these, so we can put them where we want."

"Gee, thanks, Mom," Jeff said, hugging her. "You're swell."

"You're a good boy, Jeff. You care about your family. That's what matters most." She kissed him. "Now, what else do you need in a shelter?"

"I've got a list up in my room. I'll get it." Jeff started to run out, then stopped. "I'll finish putting the food away first."

"I've got it." She smiled. "Get your list."

"OK, but I can already tell you," he said, breathless with excitement. "We need crackers, cookies, powdered milk." He dashed upstairs, calling out a litany of supplies. "Tuna fish, peanut butter, fruit juice, baked beans ... "

The phone rang again. "Hello," Pop said. "You want how many?"

THE PHONE IN POP'S OFFICE started ringing early the next morning. "Hold your horses," Pop said, climbing the platform stairs with Jeff and Allie.

"I told you, Mom," Jeff said. "Everybody wants Christmas from the forest."

"I know. Isn't it wonderful, Pop?"

"No, it's not. I'm shut down. Just like it says here," Pop said, waving at the cease-and-desist order on the door. "I can't put anybody to work, remember?"

"Actually, Mr. Henderson, that's not true."

John Turner emerged from the shadows at the end of the platform, looking like a man who had driven all night.

"What are you doing here?" Allie bristled. "Haven't you caused enough trouble?"

"Yes, ma'am, I have," Turner said. "But I'd like to try to set it right."

"How?" she said.

He held up a manila envelope. "A cooperative."

"A what?" Jeff said.

"It's an association, Jeff," Turner explained. "People come together to make things and sell them. They share the work and the profits."

"Pop?" Jeff said.

They all looked at Pop. In the distance, a freight train whistle blew. Pop tore the order off the door. "It sounds like a fine way to do business. Now let me get that phone."

"Why are you doing this?" Allie said.

"I don't know," Turner said. "I guess I'm tired of chasing city rats."

"You want a hundred wreaths?" Pop's voice boomed. "No, no problem. The Holly Wreath Cooperative can handle it."

"What about your job?" Allie said.

"I'm looking for a new one," Turner said.

"Ever make a wreath?"

Turner smiled and shook his head.

Allie put her arm around her son. "Jeff, I think we need to teach Mr. Turner how to make a holly wreath."

Next chapter: Tennyson's gift